


Horse and Rider

by BensLostTookaCat (VillainTheBlank)



Category: Saturday Night Live, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Adam Driver looked amazing in that leather armor and author is not sorry, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Bathroom Sex, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Masturbation in Bathroom, PWP, Secret Voyeurism, Shameless Smut, Unprotected Sex, romance novels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-26 09:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22440355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillainTheBlank/pseuds/BensLostTookaCat
Summary: Rey, pseudonym Jazz, is best known as the cover artist for Rose’s Romances, an imprint of Leia Organa’s Resistance Publishing house. Her art is a big reason for the success of the imprint, and she's been widely praised (and occasionally angrily lambasted) for her cover art's 'unabashed female gaze.'  The covers where Cameron, a local theatre school student, is her model are her most successful. There’s a simple reason for this: the man is an artist’s dream. Solid walls of muscle, Cameron is a man who looks good in literally any kind of costume or wig you want to put him in, and who knows how to exude sexiness in any kind of role. He simply smoulders, whether you put him next to a damsel, a warrior woman, or a prince, always giving off just the right combination of attraction and danger.Rey was captivated by him from their first session, but today, she’s pretty sure Cameron’s trying to kill her. She’s supposed to be working on the cover art for Dark Horseman, a debut novel by an author calling themselves Kylo Ren. She's expecting Cameron dressed in chainmail again, but instead, he struts in dressed in oiled leather armor with long, black hair and a braid down one side… like her own Mad Martigan come to life.
Relationships: Rey (Star Wars)/Cameron Bissell
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	Horse and Rider

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sushigirlali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sushigirlali/gifts).

> Adam Driver can get it at any time, but that costume sent me into _orbit._ Ali asked for medieval AUs and this kinda sorta almost fit? Enjoy!

Rey, pseudonym Jazz, is best known as the cover artist for Rose’s Romances, an imprint of Leia Organa’s Resistance Publishing house. Her art is a big reason for the success of the imprint, and she's been widely praised (and occasionally angrily lambasted) for her cover art's 'unabashed female gaze.' The covers where Cameron, a local theatre school student, is her model are her most successful. There’s a simple reason for this: the man is an artist’s _ dream. _ Solid walls of muscle, Cameron is a man who looks good in literally any kind of costume or wig you want to put him in, and who knows how to exude sexiness in any kind of role. He simply _ smoulders, _ whether you put him next to a damsel, a warrior woman, or a prince, always giving off just the right combination of attraction and danger. 

Rey was captivated by him from their first session, but Cameron has always been chilly in person, almost the opposite of his model persona. Never unprofessional or outright rude, mind you, just… doing a job, earning some extra cash to pay for books or whatever it is theatre college students have to pay for. He never speaks a word to her unless she asks him something, and then it’s only the bare minimum. She had originally presumed that his attitude meant he must be taken, but a little Margarita Monday talk set her straight on _ that. _ In fact, she’s not sure any of the other models even _ like _ him; what little she’s heard in the costume room was... decidedly _ unflattering. _ She was left with the conclusion that he simply wasn't interested in _ her, _ a situation that might have deterred someone with less imagination.

Today, though… today, she’s pretty sure Cameron’s trying to kill her. She’s supposed to be working on the cover art for _ Dark Horseman, _ a debut novel by an author calling themselves Kylo Ren (as if that wasn’t the weirdest name ever). The first surprise was that she was being asked to do cover art for a new author. The second was that his commission came with instructions from Leia Organa herself, delivered through the executive director of Rose’s Romances, Rose Tico. Rey was being asked to handle this assignment with special care; she needed one male model and she had her pick of any of them.

She's expecting costuming to send Cameron down dressed in chainmail again, but instead, he struts in dressed in oiled leather armor with long, black hair _ and a braid down one side _… like her own Mad Martigan come to life. So, she does what any reasonable woman would do when confronted by her unrequited crush, dressed like her private fantasy: Rey flees. 

This is why Rey's presently hiding in the bathroom, her panties soaked, on the edge of hysteria. She grips the lip of the sink, trying to look herself in the mirror, and squirms. Unfortunately, squirming reminds her of exactly how embarrassingly wet she is, and she lets out a humiliated groan--one that tapers into a squeak when someone begins knocking on the door. 

"Uh, Rey?"

_ Oh fuck shit piss motherfucker god dammit, _ Rey panics silently. _ He heard that! _

"Y-yeah?" Rey asks, hating how breathless she sounds.

"You okay?"

"Uhm, yeah, I'll be out in just a minute…" Her brain whirls, reaching for any kind of excuse, however flimsy, and finds nothing. "Just… had an emergency…"

Something besides her brain is in charge of her hand, though, because it's snaking down under the waistband of her panties. This is the most he's said to her in probably weeks, _ and _ he's concerned for her. She's not picky; she'll take her victories where she finds them. And honestly, if she just gets this over with, it'll be done and she can go back to her studio and pretend everything's okay. 

"I'll--" She does get best to muffle a moan, biting her lips together. "I'll be done in just a minute, sorry!"

She clamps down hard on any other sounds, though she can't quite stifle all of the breathy whines as her imagination fills in the details of her giant of a leather-clad barbarian having his way with her… or would it be having her way with her?, she wonders. _ Too academic, _her libido snaps, as a pulse of jagged electric fire from her clit shivers her legs and knocks her knees. 

At last, at _ last, _ as she imagines him gripping her backside, facing the mirror as he plows inside of her, the heady throbbing of her climax washes over her, bathing her in endorphine haze.

One deep breath, two, three. She pulls her clothes back into place, gives her hands a quick soaping, and tries to sweep her hair back into place. 

Then she opens the door and freezes; Cameron is standing speechless in the hallway, cheeks tinged pink and pupils blown, looking for all the world like he can't make up his mind whether he's a startled buck or a hungry wolf. Then--_ then-- _his nose twitches, and his nostrils flare, and she knows that he knows what she was doing. 

_ Oh god oh fuck oh no what do I do-- _

"I--" Rey stammers, her own face feeling like it's burst into flame, "I--that is--"

Her hands continue to operate independently of her brain or common sense, grabbing him by his lapels and hauling him into the bathroom. She turns, babbling a stream that's more word salad than apology -- one that is suddenly dammed with a sharp gasp. Her eyes widen and her mouth falls open as if she's only just realizing what her body has done.

Cameron's tongue flicks out, wetting his lips and stealing both her words and her undivided attention. Their eyes meet for an instant, dark caramel and speckled hazel, and then the two of them move together, her arms pulling him toward her as he pushes forward to pin her against the door and snog her breathless. 

_ Definitely hungry wolf, _she thinks deliriously. 

Rey is clutching, grabbing, tugging; he can't be close enough, especially not once she notices what oiled leather has little hope of concealing: Cameron's cock is both massive and absolutely rigid. She groans into his mouth and reaches down to find out the particulars, to measure him with an artist’s fingers; he begins to press against her more rhythmically, rutting inelegantly into her hand. His mouth is all over hers, then on her neck, his tongue swiping over her collarbone and his hot breath tickling the fine hairs along the tops of her breasts.

“Tell me what you were doing,” he growls in her ear, making her knees wobble. 

She didn’t think it was possible for her cheeks to get any hotter, or for her to want to curl up and hide while being thoroughly ravished. He sucks on the spot where her neck and shoulder join, and she moans.

“Ohhhhh, fuck!”

“If you want,” he smirks, “but first, tell me what your talented fingers were up to, Rey. Say it.”

She gives an embarrassed squeal.

“T--touching myself--ah!”

“You ran away from me to come in here?” His throaty growl and emphasis on the word ‘come’ make her pussy clench involuntarily, and she can feel herself dripping, a wet squelch lost to the sounds of heavy breathing and needy groans.

“Yes,” she confesses, her free hand encouraging his as it roves up her skirt.

“Mmm,” he purrs, his voice seeming to drop an octave as he thrusts against her soaked panties to emphasize his words. “What were you thinking about while you did it?”

Instead of answering, she gives his cock a rough squeeze, and a positively obscene string of words pours out of his mouth as his thrusts stutter. The jerky motion highlights what might be the single best part of the entire costume: his breeches are period-accurate--which is to say, fall-front. She tugs on one string, then looks at him and waits for the go-ahead. He kisses her again, one massive hand cupping her entire wet expanse, the thumb slipping under a seam to roll against her swollen clit.

Permission granted.

She bites back a scream, the sensation wavering between overstimulation and exactly the right stimulation, a wave of pleasure-pain rolling through her. She arches, her breasts tilting up and swaying appealingly beneath his chin. She makes quick work of the laces, and what awaits her underneath is heavy, burning hot, and leaking. She greedily takes it in both hands, smearing the fluid all over the head and down his shaft. 

Now it’s Cameron’s turn to swear, his thumb freezing and then suddenly working double-time.

“Fuck! Shit, Rey, god damn, you’re--” he breaks off as he thrusts once more into her cupped hands.

“Are you going to be my dark horseman, Cameron?” she coos seductively, pleasure making her bold. “Be my stallion and my rider?”

“Yes.” His voice is throaty, wrecked, and he rucks up the back of her skirt to tug down on her panties, then turns her around. He pauses to breathe in her ear. 

“Are you ready?”

She pushes her ass against him, grinding him toward her center. With a hand on each thigh, he uses his thumbs to tease her folds apart, the slick tip of his shaft passing against her opening, the air by her ear buzzing with his swearing. 

Each tiny thrust is the most shockingly delicious intrusion, the fullness stretching her to what she feels must be her limit, each dip pushing in a little further, each withdrawal coating more of his length with nectar. 

When she at last feels the tickle of his hairs against her bottom, she pushes back, arching her back like a cat, and moans in what she hopes is a seductive way. 

She is rewarded with a snap of his hips against hers, and she's nearly seeing stars. He sets a pace that would be punishing of she didn't want it so badly, but she does--it's what's she's wanted for nearly a year. Each thrust rubs her hardened nipples against the soft scratch of her cool cotton shirt, driving her wild with need.

Now it's his turn to babble, a stream of erotic filth tumbling down, cascading over her, punctuated by possessive bites to her back and shoulders that have her nails raking the door, paint flaking down.

“So hot, you're so wet for me, taking my cock so deep, beautiful, better than a dream,” he groans.

The supple leather contrasts with the feel of skin on skin, heightening the steal-away, illicit nature of the whole moment. It feels raunchy. It feels _ amazing. _

_ “Cameron,” _ Rey moans, her voice bouncing with each thrust. “Ohhhh _ fuck, _Cameron, I'm close, so close...”

“Come for me, baby, come on!” he snarls, pounding into her even harder. He adjusts his stance and reaches around, stroking up and down in time with his thrusts, and she shoves her mouth over her arm to muffle an ecstatic scream as lightning shoots through her body.

The primal growl that heralds Cameron's release sends a delightful thrill racing to follow the lightning, and in the panting silence that follows after Cameron helps her down, Rey is dumbstruck with disbelief. Is this her life?

When she turns around, she smothers a giggle, reaching up to correct his skewed wig. His embarrassed grin knocks the breath back out of her; she's seen him intense, brooding, smouldering, but this? Holy shit.

“So--” he begins, at the same time she says, “I--” and they both laugh. 

“I'll just, uh, clean up and let you… you know,” he says, reaching up to run his hand through his hair and freezing when he remembers he's wearing a wig.

Rey turns around, trying to give him even a modicum of privacy, listening to the water turn on and off and the swipe of paper towels. She's suddenly acutely aware of the feeling of their cum dribbling out, threatening to roll down, and she squeezes her thighs together, reveling in the raw heat that's still radiating through her. 

The door opens, then closes, and Rey is alone. She cleans up as best she can, discarding her much-abused panties in the wastepaper basket. When she returns to the studio, it's empty. Just as well, really. She wasn't getting any work done today anyway. 

She turns the lights out and grabs her bag, planning to head home and indulge in a glass of wine and a long soak. When she gets to the foyer, however, he's just emerging from the changing room, dressed in a t-shirt that shows off his amazing arms, slinging a bag over his shoulder.

“Rey, wait,” he calls, jogging over to catch up. “Did you want to get lunch?”

“Walk me home first?” she suggests, arching an eyebrow. 

He nods, his enthusiasm unmistakable. The afternoon is looking up.


End file.
